


Finding Warmth

by tortoisegirl



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Bromance, Hypothermia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortoisegirl/pseuds/tortoisegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rorschach is a stubborn jerk who can't sleep when he's cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Warmth

  
It’s cold. It’s wet too, thanks to a drizzle that’s a few degrees away from frozen, and a concrete balcony two stories above the location of a narcotics hand-off that does little to shield someone crouching on it.

Twenty minutes on this perch and Rorschach feels five pounds heavier with all the rainwater collecting on him, with the chill running stiff through his muscles. He reaches, once again, to sweep the droplets of moisture from his mask. His legs are cramping, despite all his practice in remaining motionless when necessary, and he shifts as much as he dares to get the feeling back in them.

“What’s with the fidgeting?” Daniel mutters. He’s not looking at Rorschach, instead keeping his eyes on the parking lot below them. “You’re going to give us away.”

Rorschach looks into the empty lot as well, scanning the area for movement while another part of his brain notes the amount of water puddling on the asphalt. “Bad weather,” he says after a moment. “Can’t function as well when everything’s this cold. And wet.”

“Mmm, I know what you mean.”

And goddamn, it is cold. The rain slicking his coat is beginning to seep under it as well, soaking through the scarf and dampening the collar of his shirt. For all its owlish theatrics, Nite Owl’s cold weather uniform is appealing at the moment.

Daniel catches him looking. “Hey, c’mere.” He gathers his cape up in one arm and slides closer.

“What—” Rorschach jerks back to wedge himself against the grill of the balcony’s fencing. The wet metal presses lines of moisture into his coat, permeating it enough to feel straight through the layers. “What are you doing?”

“You’re cold.” He leans in to toss the cape across Rorschach’s back and press a shoulder in against his. “This’ll keep the rain off, and if we stay close together the body heat will help against the cold.”

Rorschach shoves him off. Daniel tumbles sideways with an indignant “Hey!”, then frowns at Rorschach, hunched in on himself against the railing. “I’m fine,” Rorschach grunts.

“Geeze man, I’m just trying to help. You said yourself that you’re cold.”

“Said I’m fine."

"So do you plan on freezing your ass off every time we have to be out in the cold? It's only November; there's a lot of cold nights ahead of us."

"Drop it, Nite Owl," Rorschach snaps. "Can handle it myself. And I don’t need your...body heat.”

The frown deepens, then Daniel pulls the cape around himself and turns away without a word. Rorschach stares into the rain and doesn’t wipe away the water gathering in front of his eyes, and tries not to linger on the fact that he’s just a little warmer where the cape covered, and the shoulder that made contact with Daniel’s is taking longer than seems natural to succumb to the chill again.

\-----

And it’s still so _cold_.

The air in the Owl’s Nest holds in the arctic edge as well as the air outside; a welcome relief from the heat in summer, but tonight the basement is a freezer.

The upper floor is only mildly better.

“You can stay here tonight if you’d like,” Daniel says as Rorschach sits on the edge of the couch, absentmindedly trying to rub the goosebumps off him arms. He freezes, lowering his arms to his sides—mentally curses the cold for driving him to such a childish gesture and Daniel for catching him at it.

It’s the longest sentence Daniel’s spoken to him since their scuffle on the balcony. The offer seems genuine, though. Rorschach wonders if Daniel could ever be anything but genuine before deciding yes, he could; he’s human after all, like everyone else.

“Since it’s so cold and wet out,” Daniel continues, and there’s the bite to his tone, the dig at him.

Rorschach does his damnedest to make his glare translate through the inkblots, but nevertheless sinks back into the couch cushions. Daniel turns on his heel and returns to drop a pillow and folded blanket on the coffee table, silent and exceptionally unreadable.

Rorschach waits until the sounds of Daniel’s pre-bed ritual upstairs have stopped before he stuffs the pillow in the crook of the couch and lays himself down. His mind is still jammed up with too many thoughts, but lying straight-stiff on the cushions with the blanket up to his nose, enough warmth pools around his body that he falls asleep.

Sometime later—and it could be five minutes or an hour for all he can tell—he’s shivering back to consciousness. His neck aches were it’s angled against the pillow, and his coat and jacket are riding up into an uncomfortable lump against his back. Dragging himself up he yanks both layers away, blindly untangling his arms from the fabric, and drops them in a heap on the floor. The collar of his dress shirt is still damp from earlier, so that comes off too and is left to wrinkle with the others.

He heaves the blanket over himself again, the fabric heavy against his exposed arms, and wills his body to warm up.

He doesn’t remember falling back asleep. But he’s awake again, lying on his side with his limbs curled inward in some primal survival instinct but he’s still shaking. For a disorienting moment doesn’t know where he is, half-asleep mind only registering _cold_ and _dark_ and _cold_ again. The surrounding swim into focus and he remembers what happened; remembers, _Daniel_. With the name comes an idea, something to do with— something that could help with— but it’s falling away as another shivering fit takes him.

It’s cold, and this is inexcusable.

 _Fix it._

The name and an idea surface again.

The air is worse outside the cocoon of the blanket, but he leaves it on the couch and stumbles forward with ghost-light ideas of something better guiding his steps. On the stairs he manages to move in a silent way that only those practiced in creeping around in the dark are capable, skilled as ever even sleepy and shivering. The bedroom door is already open a crack and lurching inside is done without incident.

Just the sight of the mountain of blankets takes some of the chill out of him. The slow rise and fall from under them he recognizes as the breathing of a something sleeping; the name flits through his mind again quick as a bird. His brain isn’t in a place to think too hard on it when he climbs under the covers, content to let the mantra that’s been repeating in his head since he rolled off the couch guide him like an instinct: _keep off the rain, keep out the cold, body heat keeps you warm. Keep off the rain, keep out the cold, body heat…_

\-----

It isn’t until he hears the sounds that he wakes up again.

“—try to break my wrist if I go to pat you on the back, but you’ll climb into my bed no problem—“

Whenever Daniel talks this much and this urgently it’s about something important, a catalogued memory tells him. He cracks an eye open as his senses surge awake to pay attention.

“—absolutely no middle ground when it comes to boundaries with you, huh buddy. And after last night—”

Daniel’s on his back speaking up to the ceiling, and he sounds nervous; like he does in those moments when the night is about to swing into something frantic and bloody and the resolve in his voice takes on a forced quality. And that doesn’t make sense here, because here is a place where you can go to sleep and not wake up shaking and not a place to be afraid.

“And you’re probably going to kill me for this too even though I’ll be damned if I have any idea why you’re—”

 _Why he’s_ — The words start to take on meaning as he becomes aware of his position in a slow, sleep-hazy kind of way. Why he’s lying in bed with him; why he has as arm draped across his stomach and is all but _hugging_ him, and maybe Rorschach can’t explain all of that but the temperature here under the blankets seems reason enough right now.

Daniel stops speaking. Where their bodies are in contact Rorschach can feel his breath quicken. “You’re awake, aren’t you.”

There’s a rustling and then Daniel is facing him. Rorschach is suddenly very aware of his mask holding in the heat against his face. Something in his stomach tightens as he begins to understand the dark tinges to Daniel’s tone, too.

“Okay, before you start accusing me of drugging your food or somehow getting you drunk or tampering with the water supply, I swear to god I don’t—”

Rorschach nudges his gut with an elbow. “Stop it, Daniel. Not morning yet. Go to sleep.”

For a few seconds, nothing but the buzzing of his own brain. If Daniel’s angry at him…well, he doesn’t have a fix for that at the moment. Moving his arm would be a start, but that would mean acknowledging it in the first place and is thus not an option.

Rorschach really wishes they could just go back to sleep.

Finally: “Rorschach, what are you doing here?”

“You invited me to stay.”

“On the couch. You are aware that you’re in my be—”

“Was too cold to sleep downstairs,” Rorschach interrupts. It’s a perfectly sensible explanation, and Daniel’s a sensible man—he should be able to abate any repercussions. At least he hopes so. “And since you seem to have no problem sleeping, it was logical to partake in whatever it was that allowed that.”

Another few seconds of unreadable silence, and maybe he’s not angry after all. Rorschach starts to sink into a comfortable sleep until Daniel’s voice comes through again, fuzzy and quiet but enough to yank him awake.

“You were cold and couldn’t sleep so you decided to come sleep up here. In my bed. With me.”

“Very effective plan, up until now.”

“You don’t have a shirt on.”

“It was wet.”

“And you’re lying very close to me.”

“Contact conserves body heat, said it yourself.”

“You know what people would say about a situation like this…”

“Daniel.” He crooks his arm until his elbow is wedged into Daniel’s ribs, a tactic straight out of a street fight, holding a man down and just daring him to struggle. “Not homosexual. Just cold.”

And of course Daniel just knows how to twist his own arm to dislodge the elbow. Finally Rorschach can withdraw his errant limb, and he does so quickly as Daniel’s arm brushes across his.

“Sometimes I wonder what the hell is going through your head, buddy,” Daniel sighs.

Rorschach rolls and drags himself into a half-sitting position. The chilly air prickles at him as the blankets slide away. “You could simply ask me to leave if you want me to.”

He’s stopped from hauling himself out of bed by a hand snatching at his wrist. “Wait, don’t go.” The hand tugs at him, pulling him down to where it’s warm. Daniel is looking at him with a candidness that gives Rorschach pause. “I don’t mind if you stay. You’re right, there’s still a few hours until morning.”

Rorschach stares at him. “You’re not mad?” It slips out carelessly, but this time he can’t be bothered at how childish it is.

“I was surprised. And, well, confused. But no, I’m not mad. I’m glad that—” A look of uncertainly takes him, like he’d lost hold of what he was about to say. “—that you’re comfortable, at least. And don’t worry.” He releases Rorschach’s wrist and slouches back against the pillows. “It’s not homosexual. Just warm.”

Rorschach snorts and drops back into the bed as the tension in his stomach unravels. Daniel’s already settled on his back again, smiling softly. “Go back to sleep, buddy,” he says, and Rorschach can only oblige.

Somewhere in the liminality of near-sleep there’s a weight and a warmth shifting behind him, and a familiar voice speaking words over the back of his neck; something about trust and watching out for each other and next time, Rorschach, it’s okay. The last thought Rorschach has as his mind grows heavy is that, yes, he’ll have to keep that in mind, because it’s only November and there are a lot of cold nights ahead.


End file.
